Disclaimer: Not mine never will be. Only the OCs and the plot are mine.

A/N: Sorry it’s been so long, work and sick children have taken their toll on my writing time. This chapter is a bit short, but I hope you’ll like it all the same.

~

Thranduil gazed down at his sleeping son, his expression one of pained concern. Legolas’ nightmares had increased in frequency and intensity since his discovery of Faramir’s assistant as one of his captors. *He must rest to regain his strength and control over his dreams,* the Elvenking thought, *Yet his sleep is so disturbed by the dreams that he cannot rest adequately enough to do so. I know not how to help him other than what we are already doing.*

Even as his father’s thoughts formed Legolas shifted in his sleep, his face twisting in phantom pain. Thranduil swore under his breath, his fingers lightly brushing his son’s brow. He spoke a word of command in a tongue he rarely uttered, Quenya, and Legolas stilled his expression returning to one of peace as the dream left him temporarily. The king sighed with relief, mentally blessing Elladan for teaching him that particular trick to deal with Legolas’ night terrors when his son was a young elfling. He added a blessing for Elrond as well, for teaching the trick to Elladan in the first place.

Legolas was literally never alone. Between them, Thranduil, Gimli, the hobbits, Eowyn, and Éomer made certain that there was always someone to sit with him whether he was awake or not. The twins also did companion duty, but part of their time was taken up by the human child that they had informally adopted as yet another younger sibling.

Thranduil did not begrudge them the time spent with her, not only due to his gratitude to her for her timely discovery of Legolas, but because he felt that she bore as many if not more invisible scars than Legolas did and she needed their skill at healing as much as his son did. Legolas at least had the support of his father and friends. The girl had no one except the twins to support and nurture her, although the hobbits were fast becoming her champions as well.

He glanced up, gauging the position of the sun. It was near to mid day and the hobbits would soon be arriving with laden trays of food. Mistress Rose had promised Legolas an apple tart for his luncheon, as the hobbits called the mid day meal. They would be taking over for him so that he could get a bit of rest, not that he necessarily would. Waking dreams while walking in the garden would suffice, he could not afford to rest more deeply than that these days.

Next to him, Legolas stirred his dreams once again turning dark. Thranduil sighed. His connection to Legolas was still strong, but Legolas’ will was much stronger now than it had been when he was young and he unconsciously blocked much of the charm as he had not been able to do as an elfling. Thranduil refused to use stronger coercion, feeling that even though it would enable Legolas to rest longer it would be a breach of his son’s trust. Only if the need to do so became dire would he resort to that. He glanced up again and made his decision. Gently, he shook Legolas’ shoulder.

“Legolas, ion-nin, wake now.” His son started, blinking and Thranduil smiled down at him. “The Periannath will be here soon with your ‘luncheon’.”

“Mmmm, my thanks, Ada. It would not do to be less than clear-headed around Merry and Pippin. I have a reputation to maintain, after all,” Legolas jested, managing to sound almost his usual self. He ran his hands through his hair and gave his father a grateful smile.

“Here, sit up and I will braid your hair for you.” Thranduil retrieved Legolas’ comb and hair clasps from the latter’s bedchamber. His son scooted forward, making room for Thranduil to sit behind him. The Elvenking chuckled softly, “Do you realize that I have not done this for you since the last time you were injured on patrol? And the last time before that was before you reached your majority.”

“Now that you mention it, yes, I do remember. It was not so long ago, yet it seems so,” Legolas replied softly.

“Yes, it does. Many things that were not so long ago seem distant to me now.” Thranduil drew the comb through his son’s corn silk hair, separating the fine strands into sections. Legolas looked back over his shoulder at him.

“You are speaking of Naneth now, are you not?”

“Yes. I have found myself thinking of her a great deal lately. Of course, I have not the pressing issues distracting me from thoughts of her now that I have had in the past.“ He saw his son’s expression turn to one of concern and chuckled again, “No, you need not worry. I am in no danger of fading. However, I think that I shall not linger much longer on these shores.”

“I shall miss you terribly when you leave, Ada,” Legolas said quietly. Thranduil tugged on a strand of his hair producing a muffled yelp and a scowl.

“You are not rid of me yet, ion,” the Elvenking stated with a laugh, securing the braid that hung down the back of his son’s head before beginning the one over his left ear. “And you shall not be in the immediate future at least. There is much still to do in Eryn Lasgalen.”

“Good.” Thranduil smiled at his son’s emphatic reply. Abruptly, Legolas changed the subject. “Ada, I had not thought to ask Estel, is the lady who found me still in the Citadel?”

“Yes, though I have not seen her. Elladan and Elrohir have adopted her, or so I have heard.”

“Yes, it is like them to do that.” Legolas grinned, half in amusement, half in remembrance. “I would really like to speak with her, to thank her for what she did for me.”

“As would I,” the king of Eryn Lasgalen replied, “If I thought I would not frighten her half to death merely by looking at her. You, however, would not. I shall see what can be arranged.” He finished the braid over Legolas’ right ear and rose as his ears caught the sound of merry hobbit voices in the outer room of Legolas’ chambers. “Just in time, it seems. I believe that your meal has arrived.”

~

Thranduil walked the long corridor, still in his waking dreams even as he made his way from the gardens back to his son‘s rooms. His keen hearing picked up sounds that seemed out of place to him in Elessar’s home and he changed direction, moving toward them as his awareness returned to its usual sharpness. Harsh jeering mingled with sounds of distress met his ears and he quickened his pace, scowling. He was certain that he recognized the distressed one’s voice.

As he rounded the corner, he was met with the sight of several rank and file guardsmen surrounding the girl, Serai, who was cringing and trying to make herself as small as possible. It was obvious to Thranduil that the child was terrified and the crude comments and suggestions that the guards were throwing at the girl made his blood boil. He reached them in three strides.

“Enough!” he thundered, his cold gaze piercing the guards and silencing them immediately. None would meet his eyes, and more than one trembled visibly. “Report to you commanders and await your king’s justice.” They bolted, not one daring to say a word. He turned to the girl, his hard expression softening considerably. “Child, you are safe. They will not harm you now.” The girl swallowed visibly.

“T-thank you, your majesty,” the girl stuttered. Thranduil could not tell if she was more afraid of the guards or of him and he heaved a purely mental sigh.

“No thanks are necessary, child. I am in your debt and likely always shall be.” He kept his tone light, his voice soft. In a way, he reflected, it was similar to dealing with an extremely skittish horse. She glanced up, startled at his words.

“Nay! I did nothing more than anyone would have done!” As soon as she said it, she remembered to whom she was speaking and flushed, her eyes dropping down to regard her feet once more.

“I will have to disagree with you on that, pen neth. There are many, even among good folk, who would have walked away rather than risk harm to themselves to save someone that they did not know. You are exceptionally brave, and I am far from the only one who thinks so.” He allowed himself a slight smile, heartened when she responded with one of her own. “I would be honored to escort you where you wish to go,” he said, offering her his wrist. She tentatively laid her hand on his proffered wrist. When she did not speak, he asked, “Where would you like to go, child?”

“To see Mistress Rose, please, your majesty,” was the almost inaudible reply.

“Mistress Rose is with my son right now,” Thranduil replied. “Legolas would like very much to see you, if you wish to go there.” A diffident nod was her reply. “Then we shall make our way to Legolas’ rooms. He will be delighted to see you.” The Elvenking guided her down the corridor, careful to move at slower pace than he would normally have used in deference to her trepidation and her much shorter stride.

As they moved away, a shadow moved from one corner to another. Thranduil’s ears caught the faint whisper of sound that it made, but his eyes only caught a faint movement as the figure slipped through a doorway leading to another corridor. The Elvenking frowned, his natural wariness resurfacing. He did not like being spied upon by anyone, and he very much doubted that this spy was reporting to Elessar. He wished very much to follow and see just who had the audacity to follow him, but he had the girl to consider, not to mention that he might very well be walking into a trap if he did trail the unknown person. He continued on his path, his manner not reflecting his suspicions to the girl. He did not wish to frighten her, nor did he wish to alert the watcher. He took a round-about way back to Legolas’ rooms, to make certain that the watcher was still following.

~

Lithmor leaned heavily against the wall, breathing hard. Mordor, but that had been close. For a moment, he had been certain that the elf-king had seen him. Silently, he cursed the foreign king. So close, he had been so close to getting his revenge on that slut of a girl that had ruined his plans. She had just had to stumble across the damned elf before Lithmor had been able to retrieve him.

Regaining custody of the elf-king’s son would not be possible, Lithmor knew that. Still, if he could be killed the plan might be salvageable and Lithmor might not have to pay for his mistakes with his life. Moving as silently as one of his prince’s rangers, he trailed the elf-king and the girl through the Citadel.

Eventually, they came to the family wing of the Citadel. Lithmor cursed under his breath, it would be almost impossible to get in there without being seen. His mind working furiously, he slipped away. Perhaps there might be another way to accomplish his goal.

TBC